Fading into the sky
by Vieux
Summary: Like paint colours drizzled with water, their relationship fades. Desperately hanging to the edge, they add more paint, like adding coal to stoke a fire. They fluctuate. Some days are harder than others. One day, their paint will run out. But will their painting be finished by then? Royal Pair angst with a happy ending.


Summary: Like paint colours drizzled with water, their relationship fades. Desperately hanging to the edge, they add more paint, like adding coal to stoke a fire. They fluctuate. Some days are harder than others. One day, their paint will run out. But will their painting be finished by then? Royal Pair angst with a happy ending.

Notes: birthdays not accurtate/canon, and Wimbledon info also completely BS, but oh well. It was necessary.

* * *

/

Things always get in their way.

"You're going on another business trip?" Ryoma appears, carrying two mugs of hot chocolate. The cheap kind from the convenience store at the corner of the street that Keigo despises.

"Yes. Ore-sama has received word of a significant sales opportunity in Eastern Russia. After that, Ore-sama will travel to England because father has hired a new general manager for Europe who is based in London." Keigo types information into his laptop while listening to an audio-recording of a meeting he missed yesterday from a bluetooth chip in his right ear.

"How long are you going to be gone for?" Ryoma asks, setting both mugs down on the sleek glass coffee table and sliding into the seat next to his boyfriend.

 _His boyfriend_. The term feels familiar, yet still like a stranger. They toss the term around casually all the time- in restaurants, in front of their friends, to their parents, during social gatherings- and yet, at home, they don't act like boyfriends. More like two dysfunctional, messed up individuals living under the same roof and sleeping in the same bed (but on separate sides).

Keigo still uses 'Ore-sama' with Ryoma, just like he does with everyone else. Ryoma still brews the cheap kind of drinks, and keeps the key to his old apartment around.

"Ore-sama will be gone for 26 days."

"26 days? That's almost an entire _month_." Ryoma tries not to look as if he's flailing in space, desperately grabbing onto strings of hope to keep himself from falling in the dark void that lies at the bottom of his emotions. "You're never even around anymore. All you do is go on business trips. We don't even get to spend time together. When are you leaving?"

Keigo pretends not hear the first parts, and instead focuses on addressing the question. Because that's what true business men do. "Ore-sama leaves tomorrow. 8:00 in the morning."

" _Tomorrow_? When were you going to tell me? I had to find out from _Oishitari_ that you were even _going_. Were you just going to pretend like I wouldn't notice you being gone for _twenty six days_?" Ryoma's finally caught something to keep him from falling into the abyss of sadness now, but it's not a string of hope. It's a precipice of anger. And then, suddenly, "You said."

Keigo waits for him to continue. When his wait is met with a ringing silence, he looks up and raises an eyebrow. A gesture telling Ryoma to continue. He does. "You said. You said you would be there to watch my championship game."

He did. Keigo remembers now. He did say that he would be there. But instead of admitting it, he _glares_. Because he's an _Atobe_ , and there's no way he could ever lose that _damn Atobe pride_. "Ore-sama never said such a thing."

Immediately amber eyes spark and flash. "Denying it now, huh? Getting too old to remember anything? You're probably going senile." Pink lips twist into a cold sneer, as gold eyes narrow dangerously.

Keigo sighs. He doesn't recall how they reached this stage in their relationship. This stage, where they can barely stand to be around each other in the same room for more than a minute. This stage, where their tolerance for each other is like a sheet of tarp that has been spread so thin, holes are appearing everywhere at the same time. The tears in the tarp are growing to big to sew back together. This stage, where any extended interaction (with 'extended' referring to anything longer than 5 minutes) would lead to fights. Verbal, but sometimes physical.

In Keigo's mind, Ryoma is always the one to start it. He's always the one to make the first move, the one to dish out the first blow.

In Ryoma's eyes, Keigo is always the root problem. He's always the one with too many things to do, the one to make half-hearted promises.

But then he remembers. Keigo never _promised_ him anything. He said things. He claimed things. He even declared things in front of other people. Yet, never in the 2 years of their relationship, could Ryoma remember Keigo _promising_ him something. Anything.

/

"Where are you going?" Keigo grabs the remote and pauses the television broadcast in front of him.

"Out." Ryoma grabs his coat and curses, realizing his keys are not in the pocket.

"At 3 A.M.?" Keigo's eyebrow arches.

"Hn." Ryoma nods curtly as he ruffles through the top storage drawer, looking for the familiar metal-

"And where might this 'out' be referring to?" Keigo has stood up now, although he isn't sure why he even bothers. It never makes a difference anyways.

"To _train_ , ok?" He sighs before continuing to try to find those _god damn keys_ , wherever they were.

"Ore-sama can open the door for you," Keigo scoffs.

Ryoma glares. "I would rather _not_ have my sleep schedule relying on something as unstable as your mood, thank you very much." He finds his keys under a stack of Keigo's stupid business cards (who even were those people anyways?), and he pockets them, listening to the jangling of metal. "Anyways, I don't have time for this. I'll be at the courts if you need anything."

The door slams.

The apartment is eerily silent without Ryoma's snide remarks.

Keigo groans and decides to go to sleep early tonight.

When he wakes up, the first thing that registers in his mind is that he has a meeting with his marketing manager at 8:00. And the second thing he remembers is that he also has a personal conference with the head of Asia Pacific around 11:00.

It's not the third, the fourth, or even the fifth thing that pops into his mind (with those being tax auditing, hiring a new head of development, and breakfast respectively)- it's the sixth. After lying on the bed and pondering over whether his tea should be earl grey or English breakfast, he realizes something.

The spot next to his bed is cold.

And Ryoma _never_ gets up before he does.

/

"Where were you last night?"

"I went out to train."

"You didn't come back."

"I went back home."

"Your parents are visiting Nanako."

" _I_ went to visit Karupin."

"Do you have any evidence that you're telling the truth?"

"Do you have any evidence that I'm lying?"

And here they are again, at a stalemate.

They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity before Keigo finally turns away. "No. Ore-sama will give you the benefit of doubt."

"Oh, how _generous_ of you," Ryoma bites out sarcastically, slamming the cabinet door as he pulls out a pot for making their dinner.

"Ore-sama does consider him generous."

"Oh, really?" Ryoma opens the fridge and pulls out a jar of pasta sauce and a few sprigs of cilantro.

"Ore-sama use to live in a mansion with many servants at his beck and call."

Ryoma scoops out four spoon-fulls of the chunky red liquid.

Keigo continues, "ore-sama was never required to do any trivial tasks such as _cooking_ or _ironing_ -"

Ryoma slams the jar of sauce onto the counter. "What's your point here?"

Keigo's lips twitch. "You are _nothing_ but a deadweight. Ore-sama pays the bills, the taxes-"

"Because you _offered_ to! And _please,_ it's not as if you do any cooking in the first place anyways!"

Keigo scowls. "If Ore-sama did, we would not be eating this… this… this…"

Ryoma arches a brow, daring him to say it.

"This plebian garbage!" Keigo bursts out. His anger, built up over business related stress, bubbles over and pours (metaphorically) over anyone unfortunate to be around him- including Ryoma. Only Ryoma.

"Fine! Go move back into your mansion then, see if I care!" The younger boy screams, throwing the spoon and the jar in Keigo's face and leaving the room.

They leave painful cuts and a stinging welt along with a nasty bruise that is both physical, and ideological, imprinted upon their hearts.

/

Ryoma breathes.

"I'm sorry for losing my temper."

"And for throwing the spoon at you."

"…And for losing my temper."

Keigo doesn't look at him, instead choosing to turn his face away and stare out the hospital room window. It makes the white bandage across his cheek even more apparent.

Ryoma is silent for a moment.

"I'll buy some tea and truffles to make up for it."

His apology is, once again, met with utter silence. Sighing, he stands up and leaves the room, turning back once he reaches the door. "If you need anything, just… give a call."

Keigo refuses any acknowledgement; just stares blankly at Ryoma's reflection in the polished window, focusing on the paleness of the hand that grips the door knob.

/

They both know that mending the cracks with materialistic desires will never last long.

/

"He really is sorry, you know."

Oishitari sits in the room, studying the collection of flowers, sweets, and tea.

"If he was sorry, he wouldn't have done it in the first place."

"That makes no sense and you know it, Atobe."

"…"

"I think you guys need some serious counseling."

Keigo snorts. "You think?"

Oishitari sighs, his eyes falling on the single lone petal that falls from the roses and floats to rest on the maple table. "He loves you."

"So he says."

"He does."

Keigo turns away, attempting to mask his discomfort at continuing the conversation.

"He hasn't been eating properly ever since. He does care, he really does. He even buys you gifts every day."

"It's so he can mask his own guilt and look like the caring boyfriend he will never be," Keigo snaps.

"That's not true and you know it."

"Atobe, he's trying-"

"Do you understand," Atobe breathes. "Do you understand," he tries again, "how **tied down** and restricted I feel when he and I are together? Wings were made for flying, not for being strapped down by a lump of coal- by a deadweight that's _trying_ to make itself seem lighter."

"He's still a kid, Atobe. I know you think that you're mature, grown up, and ready to take on the world, but he's still a kid. Hell, he just turned legal yesterday. He doesn't know what he wants, so you need to give him time to discover it."

"And what about me? What about what _I_ want?" Keigo points out, finally turning to face his visitor. "Maybe it's time for him to grow up and realize that the world doesn't revolve around him- that in the real world, others won't fall and kiss his feet like in his dreams. That in the real world, he _doesn't matter_. To anyone."

Oishitari stares sadly before sighing and rising. "If that's what you truly believe."

"It is."

"I shall take my leave then. The sales report for Central America will be in your inbox by three this afternoon."

Keigo nods.

/

It's been a month since the incident.

Keigo isn't sure how to react. Ryoma has been… odd. Oddly nice, oddly polite, oddly _obedient_ ; he never stays out late to go to the bar, or even to train- he makes dinner without complaint, and gets up without being nagged by Keigo.

He even washes his own laundry.

It's odd.

And one day, when Keigo comes home, the lights are off and the flat is silent.

He scoffs.

He knew that the streak of good behavior would end some day.

But he doesn't see Ryoma the next day, or the next, or any other day in the week or the week after that for the matter. The sheets are cold and so are the plates, while Keigo's sushi takeout record has reached a new all-time high.

Finally, one day, he decides to call up Tezuka for _work related purposes only_. He convinces himself that asking about Ryoma is merely something he added in as an after-thought.

"Oh, you didn't know? Wimbledon started less than two weeks ago. Ryoma's playing in the finals tonight."

"Is that so," Keigo muses. "Ore-sama likely has it down on his calendar but simply cannot be bothered to check it."

"….You didn't know, did you?" Tezuka's tone is almost… _accusatory_.

"Of course ore-sama did," Keigo scoffs, before hastily wrapping up their conversation while simultaneously pulling out his laptop to check when the game will live air.

/

10:00.

That's how late it is when the game is finally ready to begin, and when Keigo finally has managed to set aside some of his work to watch it.

"From Japan, we have Echizen Ryoma, who recently had his eighteenth birthday." The announcer continues to drone on and on, including, in Keigo's opinion, completely irrelevant personal information. Then, he proceeds to introduce Ryoma's opponent, a man who Keigo definitely recognizes from various tennis magazines scattered across Ryoma's desk.

The game progresses fairly normally at first- exactly what one would expect from two pros.

The score is tied, and then one of them is winning, until the other ties it again.

And yet, Keigo feels like Ryoma should be doing _better_.

His level is higher than what he's displaying, Keigo _knows_ it is. He knows. But then again, this may just be his overestimation of the younger boy's abilities. Ryoma is, after all, only 18.

When Ryoma lets a shot shoot past him up at the net, it still seems normal at first- the announcer attributes it to a lack of concentration, or a split-second loss of focus- until he goes teetering past the referee stand and barreling into the bench after stumbling for more than three feet.

Keigo frowns.

He sees the referee looking down at Ryoma and waits impatiently for him to stand up so that the game resumes. A small bump like that would never stop an Echizen, especially Ryoma.

Until suddenly everything is going wrong because the referee is waving over the paramedics and Inui (Ryoma's health trainer) and Yanagi (Ryoma's data analyst) are both kneeling next to the boy who _still isn't moving_.

Keigo is busy swearing at the camera, wondering why the damn news network isn't smart enough to _zoom in_ and get _closer_ \- his thoughts are cut off by a close up shot of the tennis prodigy slumped unmoving against the bench, arm twisted at a horribly wrong angle and face pale.

The reporters have now interjected and are discussing rude comments made by the crowd about the young boy. And Keigo stares.

 _That's not the look of a prince_

 _Get up Ryoma_

 _Why are you still on the ground_

 _Why are you letting the crowd say such things about you_

 _Why are you letting me worry_

 _Why are you not getting up, god dammit_

And suddenly…

 _Why am I even worried?_

Keigo admittedly doesn't understand anything. He doesn't understand why his face feels numb. He doesn't understand why he's suddenly sitting up and reaching for the phone. And he even more doesn't understand why his hands are trembling so terribly that he can't even dial the right numbers.

He doesn't even know who he's calling; he just pushes the first digits that pop into his mind and then _lord_ he realizes that he is an _idiot_ because the number he has just dialed is Ryoma's and Ryoma is _obviously_ not going to pick up, but Keigo isn't able to let go of the sliver of possibility, or hope, so he waits, sinking against the back of the sofa and listening to the monotonous rings as his call is ignored.

The news channel cuts back to their anchorman at the courts, who is speaking with an anxious look that Keigo just wants to wipe of his face because _it's fake_ , because _no one_ feels _anything_ for the tennis prodigy.

Except for him.

"Oh, he's opening his eyes, he's moving!" The crowd cheers and the paramedics begin to back off, until suddenly they're swarming again and the crowd is in chaos trying to see what is happening.

Keigo is trying to calm himself down because _he is Atobe Keigo_ and he should be the rational one, the one to tighten the reins on situations like this and _not_ be the one breaking down because someone who was nothing to him was lying on the grass of the damn Wimbledon courts and-

 _Ring ring ring._

He grabs his other cellphone and flips it on.

"Have you heard what they're saying? He's having seizures of some sort. They can't get him to stop or calm down so they're bringing him off the court. It's an automatic forfeit." Oishitari's voice rings out a bit too clear for Keigo's tastes, almost as sharp as the news he delivers.

"Oh."

"Hello? Atobe? Are you there?"

"Hm."

"Atobe? Hello? What are you saying?"

"….Nothing."

He feels weightless.

And that's the moment he realizes that being tied down by something is one of the best feelings in the world because this weightlessness is just so _empty_.

/

"It was nothing, mom. Just a Hypoglycemic episode that's all. Serious. No, you don't have to fly out to England to visit me, I'm fine. Yes, the hospital is safe, it's clean, the food is alright-"

Pause.

"Ok ok fine I lied about that last one but everything else is fine. I'm fine. Yeah, you and dad enjoy the rest of your trip. I'm _fine_. Yes, I should be given the all clear later today- no, I don't need you guys to pick me up- ok bye, love you."

Atobe can hear Ryoma's voice as he placates his parents over the phone.

It's refreshing in the weirdest of ways.

/

Ryoma hangs up the call and tosses his phone carelessly towards the foot of his bed, not even flinching when it hits hard against his shin. Everything still feels rather surreal to him, but not in the way of those romantic love stories read by his mother or those free-form poetry stanzas he studied in English- everything feels surreal in that he can't comprehend the weight behind his body, his thoughts, and his actions.

/

Diabetes.

It's an interesting concept.

Because five years ago, it felt so foreign to him. A far away problem that he would never have to worry about at any point throughout his tennis playing career because it was for _old_ people. For the elder, for the weak. Not for him.

And yet now, lying in the bland hospital room, he realizes that it's much closer than he's ever thought.

" _Echizen, I believe you are not well."_

" _Huh?" He rubs the sweat off of his brow and tosses the towel aside before looking up at Yanagi and Inui._

" _Your performance was oddly off today from usual."_

" _And you don't seem to have been eating carefully lately," Inui adds, flipping rapidly through his notebook pages._

" _It's fine. I'm fine," Ryoma scoffs._

" _Participating in Wimbledon would not be a wise decision given your current condition."_

" _Both mentally and physically," Yanagi agrees._

" _What are you talking about?" Ryoma snaps. "Nothing is wrong with me. I'm completely normal!"_

Completely normal, he thinks, chuckling silently to himself.

Completely normal.

/

Then, when he lifts his head, he sees Keigo standing in the doorway of his room clutching a grumpy-looking Karupin and donning a set of fresh new scratches on his hands.

Ryoma tilts his head to the side. "It's good to see you too, Monkey King. I do believe I've become even more of a deadweight now."

"Good thing for you, I'm more than equipped to carry it. Not having it on my back has felt odd. An Atobe is never one to give up on his responsibility after all," Keigo blurts out, adding the latter parts only as a feeble attempt to cover up his previous confessions.

"You're stupid."

Keigo stares for a moment before he can't help breaking into an earth-shattering smile that grows brighter by the second despite Ryoma's deepening scowl.

Their moment is ruined when a nurse enters from the back door and grabs Ryoma's patient clip board off of the hook next to Ryoma's bed. "I'm sorry sir, but I'm afraid you'll have to leave while I give Mr. Echizen here his last personal medical information. He'll be done in a moment, I'm sure you can wait."

Keigo looks to Ryoma for confirmation.

Ryoma rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure you can wait, _sir_. I'll be out soon anyways." By the look in his eyes, Keigo knows that Ryoma expects him to argue. He wouldn't be Ryoma if he didn't.

So, he doesn't. Argue, that is. "Alright, I'll wait outside then."

Ryoma cocks a brow, looking mildly surprised.

Keigo smiles. His happiness is ridiculous. "I'll wait for you in the reception room."

He pauses.

"…I promise."

And as he exits the room, Atobe Keigo commits the ridiculously giddy look in the golden cat eyes to memory, wondering why he'd ever forgotten it in the first place.

Because sometimes, a rock simply needs to get heavier for the balloon to fly and soar freely without losing sight of itself.

* * *

End

Sorry for not posting anything, this was an old piece I found that I never finished. If you see a clash of writing styles, that means that despite all my attempts to meld old and new, I failed lol :P


End file.
